1. Trust


    Date: 7/17/2015, Categories: BDSM, Shemales, Author: klammer, Rating: 100, Source: xHamster

    &#034The hero is always named Lee. And Amy,&#034 she added. &#034He always gets f***ed into a dress like that, sooner or later. And likes it. Then, poof, he's Amy for real.&#034 *Good synopsis*, my professorial side commented. I snarled at him. To Nancy, I smiled, mechanically, and replied, &#034Uhh, well, hardly any of them even have *endings*, and I was going to, uhh, turn him back, at the end. Just, you know, let him have a real experience of being a girl.&#034 That was pretty weak, I admitted to myself. It was half-true, though. None of the stories *did* end, and I had always gotten stuck halfway through, looking for a conclusion that was emotionally satisfying. No, not even that -- just a *progression* toward an ending that was emotionally satisfying. Come to think of it, most of the stories never even got to the sex-change part. A little foreshadowing, but it had only happened in two or three of them. How had she gotten the impression that it was universal? She cleared up that little question. &#034Lee, dammit!&#034 Finally a little emotion, something to understand. &#034I read your analysis, too!&#034 Analysis? Oh, gods, that must mean the file called 'anal,' where I speculated on commonalities in the stories and possible reasons behind them. Once I knew she had read that, her earlier comment made more sense. A quote, a direct cite from that little bit of introspection. The dry-voiced little observer in my head commented that she probably hadn't gotten the joke behind ...
    the name of the file -- reference to my rather obsessive need to categorize. Christ, that damned file was written like a scholarly article! I'd been so obsessed tracking down all those little information trails that I hadn't answered. She had crossed her arms, was leaning against the doorframe, and the tears were streaming down her face faster. No mascara, I observed. She stifled a sob, and visibly gathered herself. Here it came, the ultimatum. &#034Lee, either you decide you *trust* me, or get out.&#034 I must have looked puzzled. She explained the part that didn't need explaining. &#034Forever.&#034 &#034I, uhh *do* trust you,&#034 I told her. &#034And I *promise* I'll stop, this time.&#034 I actually had a plan, one that would probably work, if she didn't stop me from doing it. It had worked once before, until somebody found out about it. &#034You *idiot!*&#034 she shrieked, and sobbed some more, before controlling herself. I had taken a step closer, dropping the page, then paused, uncertain if she would *accept* comfort from me. &#034You *can't* stop, you *know* that!&#034 As a matter of fact, I had written something of the sort in that wretched file. I lost count of my attempts to stop before I got into grad school. She took a deep breath. &#034So trust me, and get dressed, or get out.&#034 Get... *Get* dressed? It took me maybe thirty seconds to figure out what she expected me to get dressed in, not because it wasn't obvious, but because I simply refused to believe it. ...
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